A body wanders the desert. Many would see his smooth face and call him a boy, though all who have spoken with him would call him a man. Guthrow is dying.
Dark leather rests atop his head and shoulders, appearing to have seen more years than Guthrow himself. His hat's wide brim has several bullet-sized holes scattered throughout, and a section of the back has been sliced off. His coat at one point reached near his ankles, but the wears of battle and age have given it a ragged edge that now stretches just past the knee. Dark jeans resemble an old black dog with gray whiskers and sores, and his shirt looks like a dirty washcloth that has been rolled in the sand for hours on end.
At first glimpse you would notice the adolescent features of a pubescent boy,— smooth skin that is only broken by the few facial hairs of a young man, the stubble accentuating a prominent jaw line with rough precision. A closer look reveals the hard years that have given age to the young face. That spring one would associate with youthful skin is fading, giving way to gravity. The oils that make young men shine are all but lost in Guthrow. Small cracks grow in the corners of his eyes and lips, and his fingers have lost their grip. His striking eyes put fear in the hearts of wicked men, staring them down with the pale yellow of a sun in its final days.
And beside him is his crow. The sun does not reflect a sleek shine off of what is left of the black bird's feathers as one would expect, instead it returns the sun's rays with a dusky gray glow. One look at the bird and a person would hesitate to go near the sickly looking thing. The bald spots are expanding, and a colorless plague is spreading from its beak into its eyes. Guthrow's faithful companion hops alongside its master, leaving little cross marks in the orange desert sands.
“Times are tough my small friend,” says Guthrow to the hopping bird as it gives an attentive look to its master. “This is going to be our final assault.” The crow tries to caw in response, but all that comes out is a dry hack. Water has been scarce in this latest venture of theirs, a portent to the duo's eventual demise.
Behind them lies a city in ruin, and ahead in the distance is Loh'khal, desert palace of the last Demon King. The craggy architecture looks like a small hill on the far horizon, but Guthrow knows of its immensity. The mountain's face is forever obscured by shadow, and its belly reaches to unknown and fathomless dark depths. The King surely rests at the top where she can ruminate over her dark kingdom and worldly destruction.
Ages have passed as man and demon have waged their wars against each other, both striving for dominion over the soils of the planet. There was a time when the era of men was almost at an end, but their strong hearts and brave souls galvanized in their final hour. The demons poisoned the seas and burned the forests, almost eliminating all life on the planet. After centuries of struggle, the lives of men and animal are once again beginning to bloom. The world of man is being rebuilt, and the forests are sprouting anew. The darkness has been fought back to the deepest corners of the world where men rarely venture. It has now come to this, our weary warrior marches into the blighted lands of the last Demon King, bent on eradicating the final nightmarish plague and putting an end to humanity's horrific bane.
The torrid sea of sand sings its silent song of swelter and emboldens the air above it to dance around Guthrow and across the vast horizon. The slight wind is a breath of fire that lifts Guthrow's coat like a cape and robs his skinny figure of its remaining moisture. His blind companion hops across the scorching desert fast enough to avoid most of the direct heat, but it must take leave every so often to rest atop its master's hat. Together they share a few sips of their remaining water.
Night is the best time for travel and for nourishment. A small puddle of an oasis appears in the distance. “This is the last stop for us, friend,” Guthrow says to the crow as they approach the water's edge. “Any liquid past this point will be poison to you and I.” Guthrow fills up his pouch with water that is sharp on the tongue, then he snags a couple of small lizards and a flat-eared fox for what will be his last meal.
The food is hard to swallow, and harder to keep down— even the sickly crow can only eat a few small bugs. The taste of the meat is not bad, but Guthrow's body is older than it appears, and he is a dying man. Only his friend, the little crow by his side, knows how pale he has become below the deep tan of his skin. Guthrow's tawny eyes were pallid even in his younger days, but now most of the yellow has washed out and they have turned a creamy, flaxen white, mirroring the ailing eyes of his blind friend.
Dawn is approaching and the duo decide to get up and put a few more hours of sand behind them before they rest during the high heat of midday.
The next few days of travel grow increasingly more difficult. The shadowy mountain in the distance moves ever closer, and so with it grows a weight in the air and the swathe of blighted ground expands. The heavier air is thick with malice, and the darkened, cracked soil is almost painful to the touch. Figures appear along the wanderers' path, faint shadows and ghosts of the past that disappear when Guthrow and his crow come near. Unseen beasts torture the night with their sordid cries that extinguish the courage of weaker men.
“Stay close to me friend, we're not safe anymore.” Guthrow always looks at the crow's eyes when he speaks to it, and the crow has always looked back. Now that the infection from its beak has taken over its eyes, it can only direct its attention to its master's voice. “There are phantoms about. The demon we're after knows we're coming, and she's afraid. She'll send all of her evil creations after you, because she knows I cannot defeat her without your help.”
At this moment Guthrow drops to a knee and opens one of the small cloth pouches tied to his belt. From the pouch he pulls out a pinch of sparkling white powder and sprinkles it on the head and back of his little friend. The crow is aware of what its master is doing as they have been in situations like this many times before. After a few moments the crow glows with a very faint white light. Again they walk, but now the crow leaves behind ashen white footsteps that slowly swell across the landscape behind them and cover the dark, blighted ground with a dull white that glitters in the moonlight. “This will give your body some protection,” Guthrow says with more hope than fact, “and it will prevent the phantoms from following our path and creeping up on us from behind.”
A normal man would have a hard time noticing it, but Guthrow has been subject to increasing pain the last few nights and his body is becoming weak. The weathered wayfarer knows that he cannot possibly go against the entirety of the demon kingdom, and so he is going to have to find his way to the King without entering the heart of her domain.
It is no more than a day's walk to the mountain, now. The closer they move to the brooding, craggy cliff, the cooler the air becomes. The flat, sandy surface is being replaced by small, gritty rocks upon an incline that leads to the mountain's base. Small structures dot the landscape, marked in some foul language that humans have never been able to decipher. Large stones lie in the distance, and soon the dusty brown of the desert will meld into the dull blacks and grays of the mountainside.
The crow has been resting atop his master's hat far more than usual this day. A deep, gurgling hack frequents its old body. Guthrow lifts the crow from his head and holds it in his arms like a mother would a newborn. “You must survive this one last day my old friend. Soon we will have the chance to rid this planet of its dark disease. A thousand or more years we have traveled together, and it has all come down to this. If we can kill the last Demon King, we will never have to suffer their wretched kind again.” With that, the crow forces out an almost clear “caw” and drops to its feet with a few weak flaps, falling gently to the ground.
Night approaches. It is no longer safe.
Ghastly howls and enigmatic gargles come forth from the shadowy mountain. The climb has become more steep. Guthrow and his crow have reached the base. On the soles of his feet, Guthrow can feel the pulse of the darkness and wicked magic that lie within the hidden kingdom. Black smoke seethes out of cracks in the rocky surface, lingering along the ground.
The lesser demons appear once more, but now they are aggressive. The dark figures resemble human silhouettes made of liquid charcoal and they float across the landscape like impressionist paintings in motion. Guthrow finds himself surrounded by their shadow and knows that he must protect the crow and himself. He reaches into a jar stationed at his right hip. From the jar Guthrow grabs a handful of lotion, then with his other hand he grabs a pinch of the white, sparkling powder from a pouch and mixes the two together. He spreads the increasingly glowing paste on his hands, then lifts them and holds out his palms towards the hostile figures. Strong yellow beams emit from his palms like spotlights powered by the sun. Guthrow slowly motions his hands around his body and across the nearby terrain, dissolving the demons which fall prey to the light and warding off the quicker and more powerful foes. “These light tricks will keep us safe for now,” says Guthrow, “but the higher our road becomes the more dangerous it is going to be.”
The magic light helps the duo make it to dawn, but this side of the mountain will never see direct sunlight. The peak curls over the desert facing edge and casts a dark shadow over the only scaleable side of the mountain. The shadows hide in the shade, present but not as daring as they are at night. There is no true path to follow; the wispy figures need no footpath. The crow hops from rock to rock, opening its wings for the larger leaps. It sometimes trips and needs help in finding its footing again. Guthrow moves with an ardent haste, but minds each step on the rock surface; his boots have thinned over the years and a twisted ankle would mean his doom when night falls.
A quiet pain has been lying dormant in Guthrow's forehead since leaving the oasis, but once he reached the base of the mountain it has intensified and has become an agonizing distraction. The weakness that has crept into his body can only mean that his time is near. The crow fares no better, as the infection that plagues its face has nearly covered its entire head and taken many feathers with it. Both share a ghastly white complexion and utter exhaustion, physically and mentally. There will be no tomorrow for these wanderers, one way or another. Guthrow knows this and plans for the final assault.
Guthrow adjusts his belt and the sacks tied around it. From his back he brings forward a large pouch, full of cream-colored marbles that will explode with lights and colors upon impact with the hard ground. In a moment of rest the duo finish off the remaining nourishment and dispose of the containers. Before dusk settles Guthrow sheds himself of his coat and hat. He pulls out a few jars and the sparkling white powder, mixing together a concoction that is similar to the previous night's spotlights. He empties the jars and throws them down the cliffside. Little white powder remains. The thin man spreads out the ivory cream mixture on a flat rock and uses his hands to smear the cream along the outside of his tattered coat and the top of his hat, creating a shiny glaze. “Tonight is the night, my friend,” Guthrow says to the crow as he applies the last of the mixture to the brim of his hat. “You know this. Our world will be at peace once again if we finish this undertaking. The evil spawn of mankind will be exterminated and our human and animal worlds will thrive once again. I'll give you everything I have, friend, but there is not much left of me to give. My exhaustion is severe, as is my pain. I will do all I can to get you to this last Demon King so that you can do your duty. I only hope that your blindness and inability to fly will not hinder your power. May those we fight for be in our hearts this night.”
Guthrow grabs his gear and equips himself. The sky grows dim. Guthrow's coat and hat shine white against the dark backdrop of the fading day. On the edge of darkness stands a man whose outside is brighter than the now fading sun, but underneath that holy shell is the dark contrast of a dying man staring at the peak of the mountain where his life will surely end.
Night strikes with a fury. The moment the sun falls behind the horizon the ghouls and demons of the mountain ooze out of the caves and cracks in droves. The black blurs their movements create conceal their true numbers, but Guthrow knows that the entire kingdom will be after him and his crow tonight. “Come to me you desperate wretches,” Guthrow shouts to the wicked masses, “your time is at an end.”
The mountain looks as if it has erupted with rivers and waves of black lava all streaming towards Guthrow and his crow. “Take cover my friend.” The crow hops into his hands. He places his companion in a large pocket pouch on the inside of his coat, “your time is soon, but not yet.”
Black bolts that pulse with energy fly through the air towards the white warrior. The glow of his clothing attracts and absorbs the ranged attacks. With his enemies still at a distance, Guthrow opens up the pouch containing the cream colored marbles and launches them into the darkness with lightning speed. Bright, smokey explosions litter the steep and rocky landscape. Clusters of demons are blown out of existence, and cream-colored smoke lingers in the air, forcing the rivers and waves of evil to flow through tight passageways.
The flow grows nearer, and more dark bolts rain from the night sky, blocking out the twinkles of starlight that had only just become visible. Guthrow knows that if even one of these demons makes its way to him and lands a successful attack it will all be over, he has to do all he can to hold them off.
The crow peeks through the opening of Guthrow's coat. It cannot see the events taking place, but it has the ability to sense demons when they are near. The crow can perceive the horde that is surrounding them and is familiar with the feeling. There are differences this time, though. Extinction is on the table today. The desperation and utter drive to survive is empowering the demons with fear and courage. The crow also knows how weak Guthrow has become, knows that he will not be able to keep up his pace for long. The crow shivers, feeling that the last Demon King has left the safety of her mountain peak and is making her way towards the freckles of light that wage war on her kingdom.
From somewhere along his belt Guthrow grabs for another pouch that contains what appears to be dull shards of a broken mirror. He throws them into the air and they explode into a shimmering mist of electricity and light. The mist encircles Guthrow, blocking off the remaining paths between himself and the demons. Small flashes of energy strike the first few demons who dare near the electric mist, warning the rest to stay back. From this position Guthrow launches an all out attack against the dark masses. More explosions and magical light potions cover the landscape, engulfing the mountainside in a hellish blaze of white fire and ivory-colored smoke that burns through the forests of demonic creatures in its wake.
Guthrow nearly exhausts all of his supplies by the time the electric mist begins to fade. The weakness and pain in his body is escalating, his aching head will soon become too debilitating to ignore any longer. Growing holes in the electric mist allow increasing numbers of shadowborn through the defenses. It means close quarters now, and Guthrow has to do everything he can to protect his friend.
Numberless black bolts continue to rain from the skies, absorbed by the glimmering white coating on Guhtrow's clothes. The crow makes itself secure in the deep pocket in which it hides, knowing Guthrow will have to defend them both in the small arena that he has created.
Guthrow runs forward and twirls his body with greater agility than most healthy men would be able to muster. The shining white coat cuts its way through several dark masses and extinguishes their existence. The holes in the mist grow and more demons make their way into the circle. Guthrow tumbles through the air like a gymnast and spins across the ground with the speed and fury of a sunfire ballerina. Any dark being that grazes Guthrow's coat turns into a small pile of ash that becomes indiscernible from the dull gray dirt which it falls to.
Soon the wall of electric mist fades to nothing and Guthrow finds himself completely surrounded. The blur of white spins through the blackness like a figure skater with a spotlight in the darkness. Guthrow begins to slow and decides to take his hat off and use it as a weapon. This leaves his head open to the black bolts in the sky, but he has no other option. Still Guthrow twirls through the masses, but now the spin of his coat is aided by the brim of his hat which acts like a razor cutting through the thin bodies of the demons.
He blazes a path towards higher ground where he hopes to find something on the landscape to aid him. He makes his way upward to the remaining patches of cream-colored smoke to ward off the enemy attacks. The crow against his breast begins to squawk and squeak, and Guthrow understands that this is out of fear. What Guthrow does not know is that the crow senses that the Demon King is near and is about to strike.
The phantoms disperse, opening a path to the King. Guthrow has barely enough energy left to keep the darkness at bay. His white glow begins to fade. The Demon King stands with her arms outstretched, balls of black energy swirling and magnifying in her open hands. Her face is complete darkness, but Guthrow feels her death stare. She is about to launch an attack on her weakened foe.
“Now,” says Guthrow to the bird at his chest, “go my friend. The time has come.” The crow chirps in an unusual fashion as Guthrow opens his coat and holds his friend in his hands. The Demon King roars evil as she claps the balls of darkness together and hurls them at Guthrow. In front of him he holds the crow. The swirling ball of darkness flies towards the duo and slams into the crow. The massive ball explodes with white light upon impact, flinging bits of light like shrapnel through the crowds of lesser demons. From the explosion emerges a pure white bird. The crow spreads its wings, lifting straight up into the sky and out of its master's hands without a flap.
The crow rises further into the sky and the lesser demons try to hide from the light that it emits. The Demon King slithers forward towards Guthrow and hurls more black energy at the weakened soldier of light. The crow drops lower and intercepts her attacks, deflecting them away from its master. The Demon King halts her charge and the angelic crow beams forward in a streak of white light that pierces the heart of the wretched soul. The Demon King bloats to an incredible size and holds for a mere moment before rapidly imploding in on herself. An atomic explosion of white encapsulates the entirety of the mountain like a snow globe. The light disperses just as the sun emerges over the horizon.
The rocky cliff is silent and empty except for a lanky body that crawls across its surface. Guthrow pulls himself to the spot where his friend collided with the last Demon King. On the ground next to a rock he finds a small, black body that is barely breathing. He reaches forward and lifts the soft body of feathers. The crow looks young again. Its body is covered in oily feathers that shine in the sunlight and its infection has fully retreated. Its black-pearl eyes are no longer cloudy, and it can see its master once again. In the reflection of the bird's eyes Guthrow can see that he, too, looks young again. His features are smooth and his yellow eyes blaze.
The end of every battle they fought had given them the strength to carry on to the next. The crusades soon became countless and the years passed by like seconds in a day. Time had caught up with them, and both man and bird knew that this holy rejuvenation would help them no longer.
With the last Demon King gone, they have fulfilled their duty. Complete exhaustion has taken over the two warriors, and they are ready for their long-awaited sleep. They rest with each other on the cliff side as the sun crosses the sky, satisfied that their world can finally be at peace. As night falls they close their eyes, never to open them again.
Kozz opened his eyes and woke with a searing headache. Where's Caleb? Kozz pushed his pain aside and turned to put his feet on the floor. He found Caleb sitting on a cot next to his own, reading another one of his comic books, this one with a crow on the cover.
“Kozz, you're awake!” Caleb put down his book and picked up a glass of water, handing it to Kozz. “Here. You have a fever or something.”
It was true, maybe. Kozz's head felt hot but his body was shivering and soaked with sweat. He took the glass and drank most of it in one gulp. Luciele came over from somewhere in the camp and quickened her pace once she saw Kozz up and sitting in his cot.
“You stay right there and rest, mister!” She walked over to Kozz and pushed him back down into his camp bed. “You dropped like a dead horse last night, we thought we lost you.” She bent down and fiddled with a bag next to Kozz's cot. “Take your heart pills. I had to force them down your throat last night and I'll be damned if I let you forget to take them again.”
“I didn't forget to take them, Luciele.”
“Then I don't know what happened with you, but I'll swim across the damn sea before I let you go a day without taking them. You turned all red and passed out on us. All night long you went through hot and cold flashes, moaning like a son of a gun.”
“Sometimes I go through fits like this. Go through 'em when I'm angry or scared or thinking too much about the past. It's nothing to worry about, doll.”
“Nothing to worry about? I was up all night taking care to make sure you didn't die on us. I was pretty damn worried, and so was Caleb. And stop calling me doll!”
“Sorry, Luciele.” Kozz reached for a cigar in his bag, but pulled back when he remembered that he had smoked the last one. “What happened last night anyways? I was sure Caleb was gonna be in trouble with Slick and the others, and I failed to protect him. I failed again. I'm so sorry.”
“You didn't fail anyone, Kozz,” said Luciele. “We're alright.”
“Yeah,” Caleb cut in. “I told them that I was infected once, but then you fell to the ground and started shaking. They thought you was gonna turn into one of the infected. They wanted to shoot you before you could attack us, but me and mom and Richard and Kelly all stood between you and them.”
“Who are those two kids anyway?” asked Kozz.
“New friends,” replied Luciele.
“Yeah,” continued Caleb. “They're nice and believed us when mom told everyone about your heart problems. Mom showed everyone your medication and Daryll and Tim left you alone and turned back to me. But I told them straight up that I'm not infected anymore and I'm not gonna hurt nobody. I was brave, like Guthrow.” Caleb shook his comic book. “Then mom and the others told Daryll and Tim that they needed to care for you and there was no time for arguing with a kid. Then they left us to take care of you and they haven't come to talk with us since.”
“So in a way,” said Luciele with a smirk, “you did protect Caleb again. You distracted them enough to quell the situation.”
“I still feel like shit,” said Kozz. “I should've been standing there with you.” There was a pause where Kozz closed his eyes and sorted his thoughts. “Who's Guthrow?”
"Um..." Caleb's cheeks turned red. "Just a hero in one of my comics. This one, see? He was scared and hurt, but he still saved the world and stuff."
"Well good for him," said Kozz. He let out a deep sigh. "Lord, I could use a fat cigar right now."
“I haven't seen anyone around here smoking anything but little cigarettes,” said Luciele. “I could ask someone for one if you want.”
Kozz waved off the foolish suggestion.
“Be picky then. You need to rest up some more anyway. The camp is heading out in a few hours. You're in no shape to make the trek south. We'll have to saddle you up or something.”
“I'll be fine.” Kozz put his arm over his eyes and started snoring a moment later.
Luciele let Kozz sleep for a few hours. When Daryll, Tim, and Freddy began to round everyone up, Luciele decided it was time to get Kozz all set up to leave Siletz. She had piled most of their gear onto one of the mules and saddled the other for Kozz. He protested, but as soon as he stood up, tremors of pain ravaged his body. Kozz had to use Luciele as a crutch to stay on his feet, and she could not hold up his weight for long. He was forced to cede his pride and mount his ride.
Luciele and Caleb carried as much as they could to lighten the load on the mules. Daryll set off first and the others followed.
The members of the camp left one by one. Everyone moved at a slow pace with respect to the elderly and injured. Freddy left with his son when the camp was about half-empty, then Tim took the lead and pushed on everyone who remained to get moving before they were left behind. Richard and Kelly stopped by to check on Kozz before they left, but he was not in much of a mood to chat. Kozz was polite, but embarrassed to meet them while he was in such a fragile state. The young couple moved out and soon after them Luciele, Caleb, and Kozz followed. Tim, purposefully last to leave, helped rally and guide the stragglers.
Southward they traveled along the river's edge. They passed though the fenced entrance of the camp and left the empty town of Siletz behind. Tim was the only other member of the camp with a mule for transport. He crept up on the others from behind.
“Ya look sicker n' a dog, buddy,” said Tim.
“I'm not your buddy, guy,” said Kozz. “And I'm fine. Just tired from last night.”
“Was sure ya were gonna turn into one a them muties. Was ready to shoot ya if—.”
“There was no 'if' about it,” said Luciele. “You know about his heart condition.”
“Well now I do, girlie, but I didn't then.” He pulled in closer to the others. “Look, it was only fer protectin' myself n' the others. I didn't want anybody to get hurt.”
“It's not worth trying to lie to us,” said Luciele. “You've been harassing us ever since we showed up at your camp."
“No, no. I've only been trying to protect everyone and myself. We're all on edge with this armageddon happening. I know Daryll has been tough on ya guys specifically and I don't like some of the things he does, but he's a good leader and has kept us all alive. We're all juss tryin' to survive here.”
“Something's not right about that guy,” said Kozz. “He's been itchin' me in the wrong spots ever since I laid my eyes on him.”
“He can be eccentric,” said Tim. “Sometimes gets on my nerves but I just put the anger somewhere else n' think about how it's all just gonna work out in the end.”
“At least that's a positive way to go about it,” said Caleb.
“Yeah,” said Tim. “If he keeps acting the way he does he'll get his eventually.” Tim tipped his hat to the others and backed away, taking his position at the tail-end of the caravan.
They were on a week-long journey to Blackwater. The town was named after the nearby lake. The water had been tinted black since before people inhabited the world over two centuries ago. Large coal deposits surrounded the lake and kept the water completely lifeless. The coal had been eroded by ice and other rocks into pebbles and fine sand that outlaid the area of the lake, forming blackened beaches. The town itself was prosperous and used the lake as a tourist attraction. It was a famous spot on Frostarc to find a warm drink in one of its numerous pour houses.
The front end of the band of travelers would stop during the day to allow the others to catch up. The going was slow and Kozz did not think they had a chance of getting to Blackwater in a week. Night soon came and campfires stretched down the riverside, all powered by wood ripped from abandoned homes and shops. Clear skies led to a bright night as the moons reflected in large, undulating beams across the water's surface.
Excitement flared early in the evening as shots rang out down at the front of the line. Kozz wanted to check on what it was, but Luciele convinced him to stay with her and Caleb. The front of the line was a mile or so away, but word eventually spread down that a young woman's eyes started glowing and she attacked a mother and her baby. Daryll swiftly took her down.
The night was silent as everyone in the camp pondered the journey ahead. No one knew what the facts were about this disaster, or how far it had spread. All forms of global and interplanetary communication had ceased near when everyone could remember first hearing about the infected and their attacks. Not a person in the camp had any more of clue than the other.
Kozz found himself staring at the stars, thinking of his wife and son. His thoughts were disrupted when Richard and Kelly approached the campfire.
“Well hey there Kozz,” said Kelly. “Are you feeling better now? You looked a mess earlier. We've not yet formally met. I'm Kelly, and this is my boyfriend Richard.”
“Howdy,” said Richard.
“The pleasure's mine,” said Kozz. “You two could have put yourselves in a rough spot standing with Caleb and Luciele yesterday. I'm glad you did.”
“Those bastards were picking on a little kid,” said Richard. “I would've ripped their nutsacks off if they touched him.”
“Sounds like something I would've said twenty years ago.” Kozz laughed at the comment. “Don't let that mouth get you into too much trouble. It took me a long time to learn to hold my tongue.”
"And you're still not very good at it," chimed in Luciele. She gave Kozz a wink.
“Don't worry about me,” said Richard as he turned to Kelly. He wrapped her in his arms, turning her sidelong glare into a bright smile. “I've got Kell here to keep me in check when I go too far.”
Luciele pulled out a blanket and laid it out for the young couple to sit on. She made sure they were comfortable, and when she decided they were she bent down next to Richard and gripped his shoulders.
“Now Richard,” said Luciele in a firm, but kind tone. “Any more talk about ripping off nutsacks or any other graphic language around my son and I'm going to have to have a word with your beautiful girlfriend. Caleb's seen and heard more in these last weeks then I ever would have wanted him to experience in his lifetime, and I don't need any more of it than there already is.”
Caleb burst with laughter from the other side of the fire. He was usually on the receiving end of such a lecture. Luciele turned towards her son, and his laughter ceased. She turned back to the young man she still held in her grip.
“Yes ma'am,” said Richard, flashing an “ok” sign with his hand.
Luciele squeezed a little tighter and Kelly leaned over to Richard, beaming a stare that he knew all too well. “You're not going to like what happens if Kelly and I have to get together and have a little talk about you,” said Luciele. She smiled wide and turned Richard's head so he looked straight into his girlfriend's eyes.
Richard looked back and forth between the two thunderstorms on either side of him, both whirlwinds of fury that could tear into him at any moment. He submitted the only response he thought might dissipate the surging electricity which surrounded him. “I understand.” And with that, the impending storms disappeared as if they had never existed. Both women remained where they were for a moment, their smiling faces as soft and radiant as ever. Luciele stood up and patted Richard on the back before walking over to her son. He looked over to Kelly who leaned back to her previous posture and tilted her head, shrugging her shoulders and displaying a cute smile and sparkling eyes that showed none of the intensity they had held only a moment earlier.
Kozz watched the entire event unfold. Richard turned towards him with a look on his face that asked ‘What the hell just happened?’
“You've still got a lot to learn,” answered Kozz. He gave Richard a smile that said he had been there before.
The rest of the night Kelly and Luciele were as sweet as they ever were. They shared stories with each other while Kozz taught Caleb the importance of properly cleaning his pistol, following up on the shooting lessons from before. Richard sat quietly until the night was through.
Everyone was up and off early in the morning. Tim rode up and down the line of campsites to get the old and slow ready to go at daybreak so that they would not impede an early start on the day's travel. Kozz still felt weak from his attack the other night, but he refused to ride alone any longer. He put forward the effort to walk alongside the others.
Richard and Kelly rose and left with Luciele, Caleb, and Kozz. The entire day was a slow walk, but that gave everyone plenty of time to talk. Kelly shared that her and Richard were both originally from the city of Quartz, but had moved out to the shoreline of The Great River less than a year ago to start a life of their own together. Richard was making a living on the sea as a charter fisherman's deckhand while Kelly collected research on the mostly undocumented marine life of the western sea shores, relaying the information to the dean at her former university.
Current events left their futures uncertain and they had not been able to contact their families since the calamity started. Right now, all they both wanted was to make it back to Quartz and find their loved ones. They were worried about their families back in the city and had not been able to learn a single thing about the infestation or how far it had spread.
As they told their story, Luciele saw the young couple's strong personalities crack and falter. They spoke of their own loved ones separately, as they had never gotten the chance to know each other's family over the years. Kelly came from an introverted household that did not socialize with many others, preferring to live life in comfortable solitude in the suburbs of the city. Richard loved his family, but he considered them to be a bit crazy and over the top with their emotions and actions. They were outspoken activists who found themselves in and out of jail on a regular basis, and the couple of times he did try to bring Kelly over to meet them they were screaming at each other or somebody else, altogether too busy with their own affairs to bother much with his. They first grew to take pleasure in each other for the escape they created from their former lives, but that affection blossomed over time into a love that bound them together and sparked their plans to move out on their own.
Though the group did their best to entertain each other, the days passed slowly under the warm sun. The small masses of people that formed the caravan remained huddled in their packs and rarely spoke to anyone else. The gentle splashes of rolling waves remained constant like a metronome.